


The A-bridged Guide to Trolling

by galwednesday



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (the Troll Bucky Barnes tag has never been more accurate), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bridge Troll Bucky Barnes, Fluff and Humor, Hedge Witch Steve Rogers, Knock-Knock Jokes, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 03:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12831960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galwednesday/pseuds/galwednesday
Summary: “I don’t have any money.”Oh no, now the girl lookedupset. Her eyes were huge and her lip was wobbling. Bucky tried to think fast despite theoh shit oh shit oh shitlooping through his head.“That’s okay,” Bucky said gently. “I don’t need money. We can figure out another kind of toll.”The girl frowned at him. “Like what?”Bucky scratched his head, trying to think of something a kid was certain to have on hand. “Do you know any jokes?”(Fantasy AU in which Steve is a hedge witch with a green thumb, Bucky is a bridge troll who's new in town, and knock-knock jokes are a viable form of currency.)





	The A-bridged Guide to Trolling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/gifts).



> This is a birthday ficlet for Leveragehunters, who also came up with the perfectly apt punny title. If you like Stucky fantasy AUs and haven't already read Leveragehunters' fics, go check them out!

Bucky watched the girl approach the bridge with some trepidation. He’d had other villagers cross already, all of them giving him their names as well as a coin or two for passage, since he was new to his post. That had all gone smoothly. But this girl was alone, and she was slowing down more and more the closer she got, like she was afraid to get closer. Bucky sank down to sit cross-legged on the bridge instead of looming over her, trying to be as unimposing as possible.

“Hi,” he said, once she was at the base of the bridge, about ten few feet away. “I’m Bucky.”

“I’m Wanda.” Wanda chewed on her thumbnail. “Are you the bridge troll?”

Good, she’d at least heard of him. He’d been invited to take up this post by Nick Fury, head of the village council, and it had taken him a few months to finish his old post and travel here, so the whole town had no doubt been gossiping about his arrival. “Yes. It’s good to meet you, Wanda.”

“I don’t have any money.”

Oh no, now she looked  _upset_. Her eyes were huge and her lip was wobbling. Bucky tried to think fast despite the  _oh shit oh shit oh shit_ looping through his head.

“That’s okay,” Bucky said gently. “I don’t need money. We can figure out another kind of toll.”

Wanda frowned at him. “Like what?”

Bucky scratched his head, trying to think of something a kid was certain to have on hand. “Do you know any jokes?”

 

“Knock knock,” Wanda said, as she leapt to another stone.

“Who’s there?”

"Banana!”

“Banana who?”

“Bana-none of your business!”

Bucky laughed, low and rumbling.

“I know another one!” Wanda said excitedly. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Orange!”

“Orange who?”

“Orange you glad I didn’t say banana again?”

Bucky groaned, and Wanda shrieked with laughter.

Wanda looked up and nearly overbalanced and fell into the creek when she started waving mid-hop. “Hi, Steve!”

  


* * *

  


Steve had taken the last stretch of path towards the bridge at a run, alarmed by the shrill noises coming from up ahead, only to stop short at the rise of the hill. Wanda Maximoff, one of the village kids, was laughing like a tea kettle whistling as she played at the river’s edge. There was an unfamiliar man sitting against one of the bridge supports, completely relaxed, while Wanda hopped from stone to stone in the shallows where the water was only a few inches deep.

Steve wasn’t sure what was going on, but it didn’t look like Wanda needed rescuing. He walked forward more slowly, getting his breath back. As soon as Wanda saw him, she waved.

“Hi, Steve!”

“Hi, Wanda. What’s going on?”

“I’m crossing the bridge,” she said, and hopped onto another rock. “I have to pay the toll, but I don’t have any money.”

Bridge troll, Steve remembered belatedly. A bridge troll was supposed to move in in a day or so to help keep up the town’s defenses. That must be the man sitting against the bridge, now watching Steve with interest. Steve’s brow furrowed with renewed concern. “Do you need to borrow–”

“No need,” the troll interrupted. He stood up and ambled over to Steve. “She’s all paid up.”

“I paid in jokes!” Wanda ran up the riverbank and reached up to grab Steve’s hands. Steve swung her around in a circle with the ease of long practice, then set her back on her feet. “I know lots of jokes.”

“She really does,” the troll agreed.

“And now you do, too?” Steve asked, struggling to keep a straight face.

The troll’s eyes crinkled at the corners. His eyes were the shifting blue-gray of rocks under moving water. “I really do.”

“I have to go now,” Wanda said, “but I’ll give you more jokes next time.”

“I look forward to it,” the troll said solemnly.

Wanda ran onto the bridge and peeked above the railing, only visible from the nose up, and waved energetically. “Bye, Steve! Bye, Bucky!”

Steve waved back, then turned to the troll–Bucky–who looked a little sheepish. “Hi. I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Bucky Barnes.” Bucky had a nice handshake, his palm cool and firm against Steve’s.

“We didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

“I caught a run of good weather and got in last night. Nick told me to get set up as soon as I was in.”

Maybe the polite thing now would be to hand Bucky a coin and be on his way, but Steve had to ask. “So, knock-knock jokes?”

“She didn’t have any money on her, so I told her she could pay the toll by telling me a joke. Which she did, but she had so much fun telling it she decided to tell another one. And another one, and another one.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “I probably should’ve sent her home after the first three, but it seemed like she was having fun.”

“I didn’t realize tolls didn’t have to be money.”

“Nah, they can be anything. It just has to be something the person who’s trying to cross values.”

“And they don’t have to lose it,” Steve said thoughtfully. “They just have to give it.”

Bucky looked up fast, clearly startled. “Yeah, if it’s something that can be shared. It’s not about giving something up. It’s just about giving.”

“And that helps anchor the town’s protections?”

Bucky gave Steve a considering look, and Steve wondered if Bucky wasn’t supposed to talk about this, but he did answer. “Yeah. Marking a border with a toll makes the border stronger.”

“That makes sense,” Steve said, thinking of the yew shoots and blackberry brambles he had cultivated around the town’s border. It had taken the better part of a year to get everything growing just right, but once the last sprout was in place, Steve had been able to feel it, an almost intangible pressure on his skin as he crossed from one side of the line to another. He wondered what the border felt like to Bucky.

Bucky had been patient, to sit and listen while Wanda told her jokes, and kind, too, to help a child find a way of paying that didn’t require her to give anything up. Steve wanted to repay that kindness, and give him something that would take patience to appreciate.

“Listen, Bucky,” Steve said impulsively. “I have coin, I could pay my toll that way, but would you like something else? Something growing? I could plant something for you.”

There was that startled look again. “I don’t have much experience tending plants.”

“When I’m done, you won’t need to. Where do you sleep?”

They both went under the bridge, into the pool of shadow that overlaid the stream. Bucky had a wooden trunk tucked neatly against the bridge supports and few smooth, flat stones that might have been for sitting or sleeping on.

The bridge was made of stone and old wood, long since dead. Bucky deserved to be surrounded by something living.

Steve unshouldered his pack and dug his fingers into the gravel and clay of the riverbank. He wouldn’t encourage anything to grow somewhere it couldn’t live once the magic had faded–that would be a waste of both magic and a perfectly good plant–but the underside of the bridge was well-shaded and damp, perfect for the vial of carpet moss in his pack. He’d scraped the moss off a flat rock by the lake that morning, and it was still vibrantly alive.

It took only a little persuasion for the moss to settle in on the cool stones and stretch roots towards the riverbank. Steve fed energy into the plant until its roots flushed with water and its leaves were deep emerald. Distantly he was aware of Bucky standing beside him, quiet and absolutely still.

Steve sat back on his heels and wiped his forehead. He had shaped the moss into a cushion about two feet square; not big enough for a real bed yet, but that would come in time. Moss didn’t like to be rushed. “There. It should grow without tending, now, but if the river runs low and it starts drying up, you can splash a little water on the rocks above it and it’ll perk right up.”

Bucky was looking at the moss in wonder. “How delicate is it? I don’t want to crush it.”

“You won’t. It’s pretty hardy. I wouldn’t plant it on a parade ground, but you could sit on it without a problem.”

Bucky transferred that same wondering look to Steve. “Thank you.”

“Just paying my toll.” Steve ignored the heat climbing his neck and got to his feet. He brushed his wet palms on his pants, smearing streaks of clay over his thighs.  _Smooth, Rogers_.

“The moss was plenty for the toll. The growing–” Bucky shook his head, looking down. “That was extra. Thank you.”

Steve smiled at him helplessly. “You’re welcome, then.”

Bucky smiled back. “Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Knock knock.”

“Oh, no,” Steve groaned. He grabbed his pack and jogged up to the bridge, pretending to flee, and Bucky walked after him with a laugh. “Fine. Who’s there?”

“Little old lady.”

Steve walked backwards across the bridge, keeping Bucky in sight so he could narrow his eyes at him the whole time. “Little old lady who?”

Bucky leaned on the bridge post and gave Steve a big, shit-eating grin. “Why, Steve, I didn’t know you could yodel.”

“That was  _terrible_.”

“I’m telling Wanda you said that.”

Steve pointed at him sternly. “Don’t you dare.”

“Hey, Steve?”

“No!” Steve jogged away down the path below the bridge, ducking his head to hide his grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bucky.”

“Nice meeting you!” Bucky yelled after him.

“You, too!”

Steve spent the walk home trying to think of the most terrible jokes he could–he was perfectly willing to continue the Knock-Knock War that Bucky had started, and as with all things, Steve was in it to win it–but when his mind wandered, he found himself reviewing the contents of his garden, thinking about what other shade-loving plants could be coaxed into thriving under the bridge, in Bucky’s steadfast company.


End file.
